


tastes just like cherry cola

by shadowen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Romance, Service, Slow Burn, Suit Porn, Sweet/Hot, genderfluid Phil, not that kinky actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2958422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not about Clint, and it's not about sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tastes just like cherry cola

**Author's Note:**

> This has been languishing in my unfinished folder for I don't know how long. Thanks to darkmagyk and hoosierbitch for cheerleading and beta. <3

It was a ritual, unspoken, unexamined, and understood. Every once in awhile, with months or even years between, Phil would say simply, quietly, “We should go out. Just the two of us.”

They always went to the same place: a plush, quiet hotel in one of those neighborhoods of the Village that never seemed to change much. The owner knew their faces and a certain set of aliases and always gave them the same room and a warm smile. 

Once they were settled in the suite, Clint stepped in for a long, slow kiss, cupping Phil’s face in his hands. He loved this, loved the closeness of it, loved knowing that Phil had never and would never trust anyone else to do this for him. Of course, if Clint had his way, they’d dispense with the whole process and just stay in the room all night, fucking and sleeping and ordering room service.

But this wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t about sex.

He leaned back and looked Phil in the eye, his fingers resting lightly on the immaculately tied shell knot.

“Good?”

Phil gave him a smile that Clint knew was his alone, a reminder that both their hearts were in good hands. “Good.”

Clint unknotted the tie slowly, carefully. So much of their life together was fast and frantic, but this never was. Even long, lazy mornings had been known to be interrupted by one crisis or another, and a night off was never a sure thing. For this, though, their phones were set aside, and Natasha alone knew where they were. For this, they made time.

When the knot was undone, he slipped the tie free and folded it neatly, laying it on a corner of the polished dresser. Any other time, Clint would take pleasure in flinging Phil’s ties across the room, leaving them crumpled on the floor, but Phil preferred things ordered.

Before he could start down the long row of shirt buttons, Phil folded a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in, kissing him so gently that Clint’s heart broke beneath the weight of it.

“Thank you,” he breathed into Clint’s mouth, and Clint grinned.

“You know I’m a fan of any activity where one of us is naked.”

Phil raised an eyebrow, but he kept a hand on Clint’s neck as, one by one, the buttons gave way. The shirt was clean and crisp and unbearably white on the dark dresser, beside the black tie. It was creased in places from the curves of Phil’s body and starting to wear at the collar and cuffs. Clint trailed his fingertips reverently across the folded fabric before turning back.

Clint would tell everyone in earshot that Phil Coulson in a tailored suit was the sexiest thing on planet earth, and he would go to the mat with anyone who said otherwise. It was what the suit hid, though, that stirred him. Not just the naked skin, but the unseen strength that only he knew, the smooth, solid muscles hidden beneath the silk. He couldn’t help but slide his hands up Phil’s bare arms and slip his fingers under the worn edges of the white undershirt.

It wasn’t about the sex, but Clint had been turned on for days just knowing this was coming.

“Clint.”

He never knew the sound of his own name could touch those places deep inside him, but when Phil said it, he felt it in his core.

Pleading and warning and wanting were all at war in the furrow of Phil’s brow, and this wasn’t the time to tease them out. Clint laid a single light kiss on his bare shoulder and dropped smoothly to one knee.

He untied the laces of one sleek, black shoe, his hands brushing on faint scars in the leather. First the left, then the right. Phil didn't need to steady himself, but he did, resting one hand lightly on top of Clint's head as he lifted his foot and allowed the shoe to be levered off. First the left, then the right. Clint slipped the shoes side by side under the dresser, carefully out of the way.

The socks came off the same way, first the left and then the right, and Clint pressed his lips to the instep of Phil’s bare foot before folding the socks on top of the shoes. He could have stayed there for hours, on his knees with Phil’s fingernails dragging across his scalp. There was no place safer or sweeter.

Standing, he found Phil watching him with a warm, open look. “You’re unbelievable.”

Clint grinned and got a grip on the brushed steel belt buckle. “Yeah, I’m pretty awesome.”

He took his time tugging back the strap and thumbing open the metal tab, only to pull the belt free with one quick jerk, snapping it in the air like a whip. Phil didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened and the corner of his mouth turned up.

“You’re also an asshole.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clint said innocently, coiling the belt and laying it on the dresser next to the tie. “I’m just trying to undress you as efficiently as possible.”

Phil caught hold of his hand and pulled him close. “Ah, so the kissing and the touching is all in the interest of expediting the process.”

Clint sighed and melted against him. “Well, it’s certainly expediting my processes.” Phil raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that was bad.”

“That was terrible.”

“Hey, you should be grateful I’m not on my knees sucking you off, right now.” Phil raised both eyebrows. “That came out wrong.”

Clint was relieved that Phil just smiled and kissed him before he could say anything else. He knew how this went, the meaning and the practice and the process, but a part of him was still afraid of screwing up this one, rare thing that was so simple and so important.

It wasn’t about him, though. It was about Phil, and Clint felt small and awed that he was allowed to give this to him.

There was more force in this kiss, sending flashes of heat up Clint’s spine. He could feel it in his throat and knees and the soles of his feet, the memory of a thousand nights and the promise of a thousand more. Slowly, his fingers skating over the thin cotton, he slipped his hand down between their bodies and cupped the solid warmth of Phil’s cock through his trousers.

Phil groaned into his mouth and gripped hard at his shoulder. “No,” he said breathlessly. “No, not yet.”

“I know, I know. I just....” Clint knew that what was coming would be so much better, but that didn’t stop him wanting to bend Phil over the nearest flat surface and fuck him until they both saw stars.

But this wasn’t about sex, and it wasn’t about him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can wait.”

“You don’t have to,” Phil told him. “If you want to....”

Clint shook his head. “No. No, I want to wait for you.”

It was the right answer, it always was, and Phil gave him a soft, perfect smile.

With a deep breath, Clint turned his hand and carefully opened the fly of Phil’s trousers, easing them down over strong hips. Then he caught sight of Phil’s boxers and laughed. They were soft, cream silk patterned with red, cartoon hearts pierced by arrows. He looked up and met Phil’s steady blue gaze. “I knew you loved me.”

“They were on sale,” he deadpanned, but the hint of humor in his eyes put the lie to it.

Clint just grinned and slid the trousers down the rest of the way, letting Phil step lightly out of them. They were folded and laid over the chair, on top of the jacket.

The undershirt was next, and Clint thought he showed admirable restraint in not touching and licking every new inch of skin exposed as he lifted it. He folded it into a perfect white square and set it down next to the stark edge of the dress shirt.

He rested his hands on the curve of Phil’s hips, savoring the feel of warm skin against his palms. “Good?”

Phil nodded. “Good.”

The boxers were soft and light on Clint’s fingers, barely a whisper of a touch, and they slipped down without resistance. He folded them as neatly and as lovingly as everything else and stacked them on the white undershirt.

When he turned back, he paused and made himself breathe.

He’d seen Phil naked more times than he could count, more times than he could have hoped, and the sight still sped his heart. Here though, it wasn’t just a lack of clothes, not the reveal of skin before falling into bed. Here, it was exposure and vulnerability. It was the most dangerous and remarkable man Clint had ever known, stripped down to nothing but his fragile skin and heart, trusting Clint alone to transform him, blushing faintly under the gaze of someone who knew all his secrets.

Clint blinked back the pricking in his eyes and said around the knot in his throat, “I’ll get the bath started.”

The suite boasted a big jacuzzi tub, the kind Clint used to think only rich people in movies really had, and he opened the tap and left the white porcelain to fill with hot, steaming water. The shaving kit was already waiting on the vanity, filled with essentials that Clint laid out neatly along the edge of the bath. It was simple things - soap, shampoo, shaving cream, razors - nothing fancy, nothing they didn’t have in the shower at home, but it meant something else here, in this place.

He set out a towel, comb, and the soothing oil that forever wrapped the scent of roses in Clint’s mind with these long, rare nights. The little box of makeup, he set aside. That would come later, the last lovely detail, but Phil liked to see it, to know that it was ready and waiting.

Clint kicked his shoes into a corner and tossed his clothes on top of them, as careless with his own things as he was cautious with Phil’s. The room was starting to fill with steam, and he tested the water, adjusting the taps and eying the level. Phil wouldn’t come in until he heard the faucet shut off, so, at the moment, there was nothing for Clint to do but wait and watch the water creep slowly upward.

He knew that Phil was laying out clothes, preparing for the next step even as Clint prepared for this one, but Clint wondered what was going through his head. Where was his mind while he walked naked around the room, moving through this limbo between one shape and another? Not that Clint would ever ask, because this wasn’t about him and he didn’t need to understand it. He just had to be here.

When the water was right, he closed the taps and stood waiting until Phil appeared in the doorway. At the sight of Clint, he paused, his eyes darkening with a hunger Clint would never understand. Other men had looked at him that way, then they’d done what they wanted and never looked again. Phil just kept looking, and he kept coming back.

“There’s always a moment,” Phil said slowly, his eyes dragging up Clint’s bare body, “right about now, when I wonder if we shouldn’t just skip the whole thing and spend the night making love and ordering room service.”

Clint laughed. “Whatever you want, boss. Long as I get to spend the night with you.”

It was worth it, sometimes, to say those kinds of sentimental things just to see the change in Phil’s face, the soft surprise and longing. It helped that Clint meant every word.

Clint held out a hand, and Phil took it as he stepped into the steaming bath. The water level rose as he sank into it, the heat turning his pale skin pink, and Clint sat on the side of the tub with his feet in the water. Clint curled one hand gently around the back of Phil’s neck, drawing him in for a slow, wet kiss.

“Good?” he asked.

Phil swallowed and nodded. “Good.”

Carefully, Clint laid him back in the water until he was submerged before lifting him back up. Water dripped from Phil’s thin hair and from his ears and eyelashes. Clint watched it curl in the hollow of his throat and run in streams down his strong chest and knew this was all he ever wanted to see for the rest of his life.

The shampoo was first, and Clint dropped a dollop into his palm, smearing it evenly over his hands and fingers. It smelled sweet and clean, like cranberries and juniper. Phil made a sound low in his throat when Clint’s fingers touched his scalp, and Clint smiled. Phil’s eyes stayed closed, but his lashes fluttered as Clint rubbed and worked at his skin, massaging into every inch. When Clint was satisfied, he cupped his hands around Phil’s face and ran his palms back from hairline to nape, sweeping away the excess lather.

He turned Phil’s head toward him and laid a soft, dry kiss on the lid of each eye before lowering him again into the hot water and rinsing away the last white suds.

The next part was tricky. Clint edged down toward the end of the tub, gently levering Phil’s foot up to brace against his knee while Phil reclined against the side, eyes still closed. Clint spread the shaving cream on in a thin, slick layer, coating Phil’s leg up to the knee, then reached for the razor.

Clint’s hands were big and solid, callused all over from a lifetime wielding arrows, guns, and knives. He wasn’t built for delicate work, wasn’t made to be gentle, but for this, he’d learned.

He swept the razor up in slow, even strokes, leaving stripes of smooth skin in its wake that Clint wanted to lick and kiss and taste the length of. Phil was stretched out in the tub like a king on a couch, all relaxed smile and lazy limbs, and it was all Clint could do not to pin him down in the water and climb onto his cock. Clint licked his lips and shifted, trying to ignore the low heat in his own dick.

When all the cream had been scraped away, Clint lowered Phil’s foot back into the tub and splashed water to clean away the remaining streaks, the skin soft and smooth under his rough hands. Phil hummed happily, and Clint smiled, carefully lifting the other leg to repeat the process.

Lather, rinse, repeat. This was a ritual, processes reiterated as necessary, but there was nothing repetitive or mechanical about it. Every time it was the same, every time it was different, and every time Clint fell just a little more head over heels.

The cream went more thickly on Phil’s long, solid thighs, and if Clint’s touch lingered longer than necessary at the fine edge where skin disappeared into water, he certainly couldn’t be blamed. He maneuvered the razor carefully around Phil’s knees and swiped at angles where he knew the hair grew along a different grain. Phil flinched when the razor ran along the back of his thigh, and he cracked an eye at Clint, who just smiled innocently back and didn’t say a word.

There were very powerful people who would pay a lot of money to know that Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD and professional badass, was ticklish.

With the residue rinsed away, Phil sat up, and Clint slipped at last into the water with him, straddling his hips with a grin. Clint leaned in, but Phil pulled away, reaching up instead to slide one wet hand around the back of Clint’s neck and trailing soft kisses down Clint’s throat. Clint held his breath, his whole being focused on the touch of damp lips against his skin, until the tip of Phil’s tongue flickered against his pulse point, and he gasped and shuddered.

“You keep that up, we’ll never make it out the door,” he said and felt Phil smile against his neck.

“Guess I’d better stop, then.”

Clint huffed, his throat suddenly cold without a hot mouth pressed to it. “You’re a real dick, sometimes.”

“Well.” He kissed Clint’s lips lightly. “Maybe you should leave me.”

“Maybe I will,” Clint said, running his hands up Phil’s slick back. “Tomorrow. After breakfast.”

That got him another kiss. “We’ve still got work to do,” Phil said.

“You’re the one holding up the show, here,” Clint pointed out, taking Phil’s free arm and raising it over his head. 

Phil squirmed against him as the shaving cream went on, and it was both wonderful and maddening that Clint’s cock was trapped between their sliding bodies. Phil flinched at every touch as Clint shaved under his arms, and, by the time it was done, Clint was about two seconds away from rutting shamelessly against Phil’s bare stomach.

He set the razor aside and rested his head on Phil’s shoulder. “We really might not make it out the door.”

“Almost done here,” Phil reminded him, kissing his hair.

“Nope. Go on without me.”

“Fine. You always do my face wrong, anyway.” Phil gave him a gentle push, and Clint shuffled back to the other end of the tub, leaning back and stretching his legs out to lay alongside Phil’s.

“Never heard you complain,” he said.

“I complain every time,” Phil replied, reaching for the shaving cream and the other razor. “You always miss the same spot.”

“Lies,” Clint insisted. “Malicious slander. You just can’t handle my sexiness.”

Phil arched an eyebrow, and Clint leered back at him. Admittedly, things went a lot faster without Clint’s help. But Clint got to sit and watch, and Phil let him help with the towelling off, so Clint called it a win.

Sure enough, the clothes were all laid out neatly on the bed, and Clint’s heart beat a little faster to see all the little pieces that would fit into such a stunning whole. He reached for the first piece, a pair of simple black briefs, and looked back to Phil, gleaming with soft oil.

“Good?”

Phil nodded. “Good.”

The underwear fit snuggly, clinging to Phil’s hips and ass like a silky second skin, and Clint reached gently under the waistband to tuck back Phil’s cock so that the front lay flat and smooth. Phil sighed as Clint’s hand pulled away, and some of the constant tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

The bra was matching black silk and lace, already filled with shapes to simulate the curves of full, soft breasts. The straps slipped smoothly onto Phil’s strong shoulders, and Clint stepped behind him to fasten the row of tiny hooks. Clint took a moment to run his hands along the bottom edge of the band, feeling the line between scalloped lace and sleek skin. He pressed a lingering kiss to the precious slope at the base of Phil’s neck and felt the muscles relax under his lips.

Next, Clint picked up the simple black garter belt. There was no embellishment here, no flimsy slips of lace. This was a sturdy thing, made to do its job, to be worn and not shown off. It was a thing made for dancing or running or fucking or fighting, and it was flawless in its elegant functionality. He may have spent more time than was strictly necessary making sure it was fitted perfectly in place on Phil’s hips.

Grinning, He grabbed Phil by the waist and swung him around so that he tumbled onto the bed with Clint’s body pinning him down. Phil looked at him with a distinctly unimpressed expression, and it gave Clint a little thrill to know that he was one of the few people on earth who could pull a trick like that without getting a punch in the throat for his trouble.

Clint just smiled and pressed him deeper into the mattress with a long, hard kiss. His mouth yielded to Clint’s lips and tongue and teeth, and Clint kissed him til there was no air left but the breaths that passed between them.

"You really need to cut that out," Phil warned, and he groaned as Clint licked a long stripe up his throat and pulled away.

"Why? Worried we're gonna miss happy hour?" Clint teased, but he reached for the light silk stockings and knelt to fit them carefully over Phil's feet, sliding them slowly up his long, smooth legs. Phil lifted his legs to let Clint work the stockings up around his thighs, his knees framing Clint's sides as Clint snapped on the garter straps. "God, you're the hottest thing I've ever seen," Clint said.

Phil laughed. "Well, I'm glad you think so. Otherwise, this would be a little awkward."

Clint nipped at the inside of his thigh, and Phil gasped. "Asshole."

"Shut up and get my dress," Phil commanded, and Clint was more than happy to obey, even if it meant moving away from the wonderful refuge between Phil's legs.

Clint didn’t know the first thing about dresses. He didn’t know how to explain the way the body fit smoothly around Phil’s curves, or the word for how the fabric flowed like dark water off of Phil’s hips and shoulders. All Clint knew was that the plum silk gown fit like a dream, and Phil looked fucking amazing.

Pulling the zipper up the back made Clint’s heart stutter, watching the silk tighten and settle into place. He’d never get over this, how helping Phil dress could be just as sexy as getting him undressed, and he’d never get over the fact that Phil wanted him to do both.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, lips pressed against the back of Phil’s neck, and Phil shivered.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am t-”

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” Clint cut him off. “There’s nothing here but us. None of the shit out there has any place in here.” He slid his arms around Phil’s waist and put one hand up to press over Phil’s heart. “I love you. Period. Now what do you say?”

Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his muscles easing under Clint’s arms. “I love you, too.”

“Yeah, you do.” Clint held him tightly for a moment, then loosened his hold just enough to let Phil step away, if he wanted to. “You ready to finish up, or you need a minute?”

After a pause, Phil nodded, and Clint let his arms fall. Instead of walking forward, Phil turned and pulled Clint in for a long, wet kiss, licking into Clint’s mouth like he wanted to consume Clint’s entire being, leaving Clint short of breath and dizzy when he finally pulled back.

Before Clint could shuffle any of his windblown thoughts into words, Phil smiled sweetly and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He picked up a wig box from the dresser and swept into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Clint fell onto the bed with a sigh. There was an ache that belonged only to these nights, a need he didn’t completely understand. He wanted to get off worse than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but he didn’t _just_ want to get off. He wanted to earn it.

When the bathroom door eventually opened, the woman who came out would be Phil and not Phil, and Clint would have the privilege of being on her arm for the evening. He wanted to take her dancing and shower her with attention and seduce her slowly over a bottle of champagne. At the end of the night, he wanted to get on his knees and worship her from the arches of her feet to the curve of her perfect lips. He wanted to beg until she let him go down on her, then wait for her permission to come.

Hopelessly in love didn’t begin to cover it. 

Clint sighed again and hauled himself off the bed. His suit was hanging in the closet, because Phil refused to let him throw a good suit in a duffle bag, and he took his time getting dressed. Phil would be a while putting on her make-up, and there was no need to rush through this or any part of the night ahead.

Clint was looking forward to it, even if it wasn’t about him at all.


End file.
